Hermione's Hugs
by Mr. Villiers
Summary: It's amazing what a little display of friendly affection can do after a decade of neglect. When Harry experiences his first hug in living memory, he naturally wants another.


Hermione's Hugs

Harry Potter always tried to be a happy boy.

Harry Potter didn't have a happy life.

Things had been great for the first fifteen months of his life. Sure, an evil wizard had been after his family, but until that fateful Halloween, Harry's life had been full of love and affection from his young parents.

But afterward… Harry had been forced to live at the Dursleys'—a malignant tumor of a family that tried to suppress his magic by locking him up in a cupboard and starving him—not just of food but of love and happiness as well. Since Halloween, 1981, Harry had never been hugged, never been kissed on the cheek or the forehead—or at all, really—and Harry had never had someone tell him they loved him.

That is, not until the end of his first year at Hogwarts. He'd gone after the philosopher's stone with his two best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, at his side. It was then, in the room with Snape's potion riddle, that Hermione had enveloped him in a spine-popping hug. Naturally, Harry's first instinct had been to flee, but he was determined not to show his discomfort with physical contact when Hermione seemed to enjoy it. Of course, she'd been teary-eyed at the moment because he was going off to face Snape alone.

And honestly, it hadn't been that bad. When he broke it down, it was fundamentally the pressing together of two bodies. There wasn't even any skin-to-skin contact except when their cheeks grazed, and that was a minor discomfort at best. Her hair, per usual, had been _everywhere_ , but Harry liked her hair; it smelled of vanilla. Then there was the way her fingers dug into his back with a peculiar desperation, like she didn't want him to go—a nice thought, that. Harry didn't want her to go either; the warmth of her body, even through the fabric of their robes, lent him a fuzzy sort of feeling in his chest—a feeling he'd later learn was affection, the first experience he'd had with it in over ten years.

In days to come, Harry found himself wondering about that hug, his first hug in living memory. He still flinched away from most physical contact—a result of the harsh treatment from his relatives—but not from Hermione, not after he'd learned how pleasant it could actually be. He wanted to feel that strange, new fuzziness again, but he couldn't just walk up to Hermione and hug her—he knew that would be weird! So Harry resigned himself to waiting until she next decided to hug him.

He just hoped he didn't have to wait until his life was in danger again.

Then in the summer that followed his first year of magical schooling, Hermione greeted him in Diagon Alley by launching herself at him and throwing her arms around his neck, resulting in slightly more skin-to-skin contact than the first time. Strangely, Harry found he didn't mind the touching so long as he got to feel that profound new feeling in his heart. But the hug was fleeting, and after only a second or two, they'd broken apart.

Harry had to wait much longer for his next hug from Hermione. Days stretched into weeks before being stretched again into months. He longed to feel her body pressed against his again, but he didn't want to seem like a creep by asking for a hug, so he kept the desire to himself.

How could a simple touch bewitch him so?

Harry was shunned that year by his fellow classmates. They called him the Heir of Slytherin. They hated him. Harry was used to the feeling from a decade with the Dursleys, but he was glad for Ron's and Hermione's constant companionship; they never deserted him. Their friendship was as unshakable as ever.

But as the year progressed, Harry didn't get another hug, and he'd begun to fear that he never would again. Then the worst happened—Hermione had been petrified, and suddenly that possibility became all too real.

He visited her in the hospital wing, sometimes sneaking out of Gryffindor Tower under his father's invisibility cloak just to see her. Once, he felt the impulse to hold her hand, and when he complied with the previously foreign urge by slipping his fingers into her stony, half-closed fist, he found himself wishing she'd squeeze his fingers in return.

That was when Harry came to the realization that physical contact could be good. And it was all because of Hermione's hugs.

When Harry saw her walk into the great hall at the end of the year, he thought he'd never seen a more brilliant thing in his life. He bolted to his feet so fast that he knocked over his goblet of pumpkin juice—not that he cared or even noticed, because Hermione was already running towards him.

That was when Harry came to the realization that Hermione had more than one type of hug in her arsenal. He got a good glomping right there in the middle of the great hall and was nearly catapulted across the Gryffindor table in the process. They were both quite content to sustain the embrace for a good fifteen seconds this time before letting go. The warm feeling in Harry's chest remained for a good deal longer.

It was worth ten months of waiting. Harry, however, was determined never to wait that long for the next one.

As they took their seats at the table, Harry, recalling his recent experiences in the hospital wing, had the compulsion to take Hermione's hand under the table, but his cheeks reddened at the very thought, and he chickened out.

Hermione glanced at him and raised an eyebrow at his impressive blush. He just shook his head, and, thankfully, she dropped the matter.

But the next day on the train ride home, Ron had excused himself and left for the toilet when Hermione spoke up. "I'm sorry if I embarrassed you yesterday at the feast. I imagine I startled you, tackling you the way I did." Her cheeks were pink and she avoided Harry's gaze. "It won't happen again."

"No!" He'd very nearly shouted the word. As it was, she flinched and locked startled eyes onto him. Harry softened his voice and tried again. "I just meant… that I, er, like your hugs," he finished rapidly. Now _he_ was the one avoiding _her_ gaze.

When he finally dared to look at her, her face had progressed from pink to crimson, but she was smiling slightly. "Do you want—I mean, if you'd like to—not that you _have_ to, but—"

"Yes, please," Harry said softly.

With a small, demure smile, Hermione crossed to Harry's side of the compartment and quickly took the seat beside him. The hug that followed was different than the previous two versions. It wasn't the running glomp she'd given him the day before, but neither was it the normal, semi-frantic hug she'd given him at Snape's potion trial or when they'd met in Diagon Alley last summer. This one was tentative, and quite awkward at first, but once they'd gotten over their initial embarrassment, Harry thought it was her best one yet. His face was once again half-hidden behind her impossibly chaotic, vanilla-scented hair, but he still didn't mind. He worked up the courage to nuzzle her hair and sighed when he felt her squeeze him harder.

Then she uttered what was clearly an embarrassed laugh. "I'm sorry—my hair is quite problematic, I know."

Harry grunted to the contrary. "I've always liked your hair, Hermione," he said into her curly, brown locks. Then he raised a hand to pull a few strands of it from his mouth. "Not in my mouth though," he added with a grimace, "no matter how good it smells."

She clutched him even tighter, and he replied in kind.

They jumped apart when they heard Ron returning from the toilet, but Hermione didn't return to her seat. Their redheaded friend didn't seem to notice or care that he'd traded places with Hermione, as he resumed his complaining of their summer homework.

Harry exchanged a shy glance with the girl beside him; they grinned.

The train continued to thunder down the tracks, and Ron continued to be oblivious to the looks shared between his two best friends across from him. When the redhead eventually dozed off, Harry took Hermione's hand, and the two of them traded smiles again. They remained like that for the rest of the journey back to London.

When they inevitably arrived at King's Cross Station, Harry found himself enveloped in one of Molly Weasley's own special brand of hugs. This hug was nice too but in a subtler way, a simpler way. It didn't ignite a fire in his chest like Hermione's did. It was motherly, which was also a new experience for Harry, but in his opinion just couldn't compare with those of his best friend.

He managed to catch Hermione's eye before she left with her parents, and she dragged them over to meet him. After a few minutes of pleasantries, during which Mrs. Granger mentioned, much to her daughter's horror, that Hermione wrote home about him often, Hermione gave him a goodbye hug that was reminiscent of the first two she'd given him, a somewhat desperate embrace that he'd eventually come to refer to as a classic "Hermione Hug."

Harry's addiction for Hermione's unique variety of hugs only worsened. After being deprived of it for so long, he craved physical affection, and only Hermione's hugs could satisfy that craving.

Fortunately, Hermione seemed more than happy to provide Harry with these hugs, and when Harry timidly confessed that her hugs were among his favorite things in the world, she wholeheartedly agreed with his sentiment. She encouraged him to hug her whenever he was inclined to do so, and so he did—countless times.

At some point, Hermione started adding the occasional kiss to her hugs. The first time she did this, pecking Harry on the cheek during a much-needed hug after learning that Sirius Black, murderer of his parents, had been James' best friend and was Harry's godfather, it created another milestone for Harry: his first ever kiss in living memory. That, of course, had promptly cleared up any forlorn thoughts he'd had about the escaped prisoner of Azkaban.

And when Harry needed extra hugs and kisses while confronted with the possibility of his doom during the Triwizard Tournament in his fourth year, Hermione obliged him. At the Yule Ball, Hermione bestowed upon him yet another first when she pointed out the mistletoe above them and proceeded to place a chaste kiss on his lips. Harry was able to claim another after the ball when they said goodnight in the common room, and he practically floated up the stairs to his bed.

When Umbridge made his life at Hogwarts miserable, Hermione made sure to keep Harry's mind distracted by taking every opportunity to surprise him with a patented Hermione Hug or by planting a kiss somewhere on his face, sometimes on his cheek, forehead or lips, sometimes at less visited places like his eyelids or nose.

And sixth year, when Harry was dealing with Sirius' death and the implications of the prophecy, she was there to comfort him about those things too.

Even beyond Hogwarts, Harry found his life brighter whenever Hermione was around. She was everything to him—his best friend and the love of his life. Together, there was nothing that they couldn't accomplish. Defeating a pesky dark lord? Easy peasy!

Ten years later, while tucking his daughter into bed, Harry found it amazingly wonderful how much his life had changed because of a simple hug from a twelve-year-old girl with bushy hair and large front teeth. That girl—now a woman—stood in the doorway to their daughter's bedroom, watching him fondly with a soft smile on her face.

Harry hugged Harmony for the third time since she'd crawled into bed, and kissed her forehead before joining his wife in the doorway where they each wrapped an arm around the other.

"Ever since you told her what you call my hugs," whispered Hermione as she watched their daughter fall asleep, "she insists on calling them 'Mummy Hugs' instead."

"That's probably because she won't develop the ability to correctly pronounce your name for another few years at least."

Harry turned and fled as his wife, with wand in hand, chased him down the hall and into their bedroom. Locking the door wouldn't have done any good, but he did anyway. She Apparated directly into the room and tackled him in a hug that was so _Hermione_ it took his breath away. Of course, falling backwards onto a bed with a twenty-something witch landing on one's chest had a habit of knocking the air from one's lungs.

Because of Hermione's hugs, Harry Potter was always happy.

Because of Hermione's hugs, Harry Potter had a happy life.

 _Finite_


End file.
